


avoiding me and walking around you

by fortymaliks



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2018-01-02 14:12:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortymaliks/pseuds/fortymaliks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick watches Harry kiss James Corden on television, and has some feelings about that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	avoiding me and walking around you

**Author's Note:**

> Massive thank you to [estrella30](http://archiveofourown.org/users/estrella30/pseuds/estrella30) and [mrsyt31](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsyt31/pseuds/mrsyt31) for the betas and the read-through and for generally being amazing. <3
> 
> Here's a fic in which I say the word "Corden" quite a lot.

It’s clearly a joke, Nick thinks, hysterically. Ha. Hahahaha. He’s petting Puppy in what is probably a manic sort of way, alone on his sofa. Somewhere in his phone sits an unanswered text from Harry reminding him to watch his episode of A League of Their Own. Innocent, really.

Harry surely had no idea what he was doing, and that’s more than half of the bloody problem.

See, there are these boxes that Nick puts people in. Harry Styles has been sitting in the box of men that Nick doesn’t allow himself to fancy based on the argument that _they don’t kiss other men_. While Nick’s always questioned Harry’s dedication to being in that box, he’s never really had a reason to assume otherwise.

But now he’s gone on national television and snogged James Corden.

For a laugh, right, hahaha. Harry’s got his bloody hilarious hands on James’ face, his thumb pressing gently into James’ jawline as he holds his face where he wants it. His eyes scrunch up adorably as he pulls away and into a laugh, and presses one last kiss to James’ temple. Hilarious. Bloody whimsical.

Nick blinks at his telly, trying to will away the image from behind his eyes.

 

\----

 

He’s tired the next morning, dark circles under his eyes. Every time Nick had attempted to drift off to sleep, he’d seen Harry’s mouth, soft and gentle on Corden’s.

He’s so tired, he forgets to check who is ringing him before answering his phone.

“Did you see it?” Harry asks, and of course it’s him, bloody hell. “How did I do?”

“I, erm,” Nick is panicking, he thinks. This is what panic feels like, probably.

“You didn’t watch, did you?” Harry sounds disappointed now, his slow drawl revealing just a hint of amusement.

Nick is instantly relieved, because good, that’s a good excuse. A lie, but it’ll do.

“You caught me,” Nick let’s out all in one breath, “Fell asleep early. It’s recorded, though, so I’ll watch it later.”

That part isn’t a lie. Nick will definitely watch it later. Several hundred times.

Harry huffs a fond laugh into the phone, and Nick’s heart grows three sizes.

“Be sure you do. I want to know if I’m funny.”

The groan Nick lets out is involuntary. “Right. As I am usually the lucky, long-suffering recipient of your attempts at hilarity, I’m going to go ahead and say that you aren’t, love.”

Harry’s laugh is muted by hundreds of miles and a tinny phone line, but Nick is still glad to hear it.

“Call you later,” Harry says, brightly, “gotta go!”

 

\----

 

He’s snapped at Aimee more times than she should have allowed by the time she’s finally fed up with it.

“Fuck’s sake, Nicholas.” She sits up straighter on the couch, sets her wine glass down on the coffee table in front of her.

They’re watching the tele, nothing in particular, but Nick has been idly surfing for the past hour, not landing on anything. He’s only half listening to the stories that Aimee’s telling him, stopping every now and then to argue with something she’s said. He’s not doing it on purpose, he’s just not in a good mood.

He’d managed to flick through every channel available before landing on a repeat of Gavin and Stacey, and no. Nick’s not having it. Corden’s face makes him shudder right now, a sharp, bitter feeling sneaking up his spine. He slams the power button on his remote harder than he probably has to and tosses it with more force than he wants.

Aimee’s got her eyebrow raised like she’s got Nick’s number when she let’s go of her glass.

“Let’s have it, then,” she sighs, “what the hell’s gotten into you lately.”

Nick knows she’s probably thinking about the past few days. He’d found several things wrong with Henry’s new line, slowly and steadily picking it apart until Henry had stopped texting him with a simple, “don’t know what’s up your ass, mate, but my shit is fabulous”. He’d made comments about high profile celebrities on the radio that had caused Matt Fincham to both grin wickedly and admonish him about professional standards. He’d been so sarcastic to Lorde that she’d almost cried, and Nick had to spend three of his precious Saturday hours in a meeting about “thoughtfulness” and “hospitality”.

It’s Sunday now, and all Nick wants is some peace and quiet, for fuck’s sake.

Nick ignores Aimee’s questioning eyebrow and pours himself another glass of wine.

“Since you don’t seem keen to offer any information up, I’ll cut to the chase, then,” Aimee says. Nick winces, because he knows what’s coming. Aimee hates talking about things like feelings and problems and the like, and she probably wouldn’t bring it up if Nick didn’t deserve it. He does, he knows, but that doesn’t make him any less quick to sip petulantly from his glass and sink further down on the couch. Maybe he could sink into it and disappear. That sounds pretty great.

“How many times have you watched it,” Aimee asks. Nick sputters.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lies. Aimee absolutely cackles.

“Bollocks. You asked me earlier if I thought James Corden’s lips looked dry. ‘They’d probably feel like sandpaper’, you said,” Aimee says.

“Fuck off,” Nick says, “I did not.”

He might have, however, he’s not sure. It’s possible.

“‘Can’t imagine why anyone’d want to snog him at all’, were your specific words, Nicholas.”

“Well, really,” Nick grumbles, sinking down into a complete slouch. He’s not even pretending to sit up anymore. “Gross, yuck, and all that. James bloody Corden. Who’d ever kiss him?”

“You. You would. You did kiss him. In a scenario very much like Harry, on television in front of millions.”

“Exactly. I’ve had experience in the matter, then. So you should listen to me when I say it’s disgusting,” Nick says, logically.

The look Aimee gives him isn’t even angry, which possibly makes it worse.

“Nick,” she sighs, reaching over gently to set a hand on his knee.

“I don’t want your pity!”

“Nicholas,” Aimee says, “you need to stop obsessing.”

“I’m not obsessing, I don’t obsess!” Nick insists, accidentally sloshing wine out of his glass with the force of his gesturing. “It’s just, Aims. I didn’t know that Harry… kissed men.”

“He doesn’t, though, does he?” Aimee asks, “I mean, you’d know if he did, probably. It was a joke, right?”

“Fucking hilarious,” Nick says.

He means to say more, he really does, but he thinks of Harry’s grin, pressed close to James’ mouth. He thinks of the way his eyes crinkle when he thinks he’s done something funny or clever. He can’t seem to stop thinking about how endearingly Harry smiles at James after their lips part; of the second affectionate press of lips to James’ skin, or of Harry’s huge laugh.

Harry wants people to be happy, always, all the time, and it makes him happy when he knows he’s done it. Nick’s watched the kiss video probably a few dozen times by now, and it’s a manifestation of that; the way Harry trusts the sketch, the way he makes himself so vulnerable on television for the world to see just because James had probably told him it’d be hilarious. The way Harry doesn’t at all care that your average person at his level of fame probably wouldn’t snog another man.

Nick thinks of all of these things, and only shakes out of it when he realizes that Aimee’s said something else.

“Sorry,” Nick says, “what?”

Aimee blinks at him, pausing for a few long moments.

“I think,” she says, rolling her eyes, “we’re going to need more wine.”

 

\----

 

He’s playing Call or Delete a few days later with Pete Wentz from Fall Out Boy, when he lands on James Corden’s name.

“Who is it, who is it?” Pete asks, leaning in close to see Nick’s phone, “right! James Corden! I love that guy! What’ll it be, Nick?”

“Delete!” Nick exclaims with glee, and he thumbs the buttons to make it happen. “Your turn!”

Finchy’s groan is probably picked up by the mic, but Nick can’t find a single fuck to give.

 

\----

 

Nick suffers through an entire four hours of indecision before finally deciding to make his way out to Henry’s place. He’s in a foul mood, and it’s not like a birthday party for Henry’s boyfriend would normally be high on his priority list, but this time there’s a catch.

Harry’s just arrived back, and Nick’s got three unanswered texts in his phone from him, asking if Nick’ll be there.

He doesn’t mean to freeze when he gets an armful of popstar. Nick tries, belatedly, to make himself relax, but it’s not like it’s easy.

Either Harry’s gotten taller, or he’s dressing in a way that makes him look slimmer. He’s got a death grip around Nick’s shoulders, and his nose pressed to Nick’s neck, and Nick is absolutely going to die. He’s pretty sure dying is the opposite of relaxing. Or something. He can’t really think straight with the way the sleeves of Harry’s t-shirt are rolled up, and good lord, his arms.

“Missed you,” Harry mutters into the space between Nick’s shoulder and neck. He smells earthy; a little like sweat and a bit like cologne and a lot like Harry.

Nick yanks himself out of Harry’s arms as quickly as he can manage. It’s ungraceful and panicked, and it makes Harry frown slightly.

“I missed you, too,” Nick laughs, a bit insane. He runs a hand through his quiff, flattening it a bit. “Have you see Alexa, yet? Better go find her.”

Since his only chance is distance, Nick runs.

 

\----

 

“You’re being weird,” Harry says, and Nick jumps, slightly. He’s snuck up behind him at Henry’s bar, and fuck, Nick should have known better than to let his guard down.

“Am not,” Nick says, grabbing across the counter for the nearest bottle.

Harry snorts, leaning into Nick’s space. Nick stares at his mouth, remembering the much paler pink color his lips had turned when they were pressed against James Corden’s.

“You’ve barely said two words to me all night,” Harry says, snapping him out of it, “and Henry says you’ve been a twat for the last few weeks.”

“Henry always thinks I’m being a twat,” Nick snorts, barely glancing at the bottle he’d grabbed to see that it’s Grey Goose before pouring himself a healthy splash of it.

“Kelly said so, too,” Harry says, eyeing Nick’s glass briefly. Nick clutches it closer to himself. “And I saw on TMZ while I was in America that you made Lorde cry.”

“Yes, well,” Nick steps back until he’s a safe distance from Harry’s questioning glare, “glory and gore go hand in hand.”

He downs the shot, disappearing into the crowd with the bottle and hoping Harry doesn’t follow.

 

\----

 

When he catches up with Harry again, his cheeks are more flushed than when they were at the bar together. Also, he’s not so much caught up with him as flung into a wall beside him by the might of Ian and Aimee. Mostly Aimee.

“Right,” Aimee says, giving Harry another shove into place beside Nick when he tries to step away from the wall, “Hang on there. I need you two to talk this out.”

“Talk what out?” Harry looks genuinely puzzled, and by now, Pixie and Alexa have stepped up next to Henry and Dave to complete the circle of people keeping Nick fenced in with a perplexed, handsy, drunk Harry Styles.

“Aimee, please, don’t,” Nick warns. He tries to pitch his voice at threatening, but he lands on slightly pathetic.

“It’s for your own good,” Aimee sighs, before turning to Harry.

“Is this about why he’s been an absolute arsehole?” Harry asks, barely gazing at Nick at all, turning to grin at Pixie. “Let’s hear it, then.”

“Nick’s seen you kissing James Corden on the television. He’s being weird about it.”

Nick is absolutely done with every single person that he knows. He’s getting new friends, immediately. He gets thousands of tweets a day from people in bloody America, claiming to want to be his best friends. It’s about time he takes some of them up on that.

“You have seen it! I knew it!” Harry exclaims, turning to glare accusingly in Nick’s direction. He takes a step closer, and Nick takes one backwards. Into the wall.

“I might have,” Nick says, trapped, “so what? I don’t know what she’s on about.”

“Nick,” Harry says, quietly. He’s using the voice he uses when he’s trying not to spook Puppy, and no. That’s not. No.

“Honestly,” Nick says, fighting down his nerves. He wonders where that bottle of vodka has gotten to. He can’t have actually finished it, he doesn’t think. He makes himself face Harry, ignoring the way he can feel his friends’ eyes boring holes in his head. “You were brilliant. Really, quite funny. You really gave Freddie a run for his money.”

Harry stares at him a moment longer. He turns slightly, so that he’s mostly facing Nick with his back to the rest of the room.

“And me kissing Corden,” Harry asks, “that part? How was that?”

This is it, Nick knows. He’s done some acting before, so it’s not entirely new to him. He forces out a laugh, patting Harry on the shoulder.

“Brilliant, truly,” Nick says, shrugging, forcing himself to meet Harry’s eyes.

“Right,” Harry says after a long moment. He nods once, and then smiles.

Nick wasn’t aware he was holding his breath, but he lets it out now and hopes that Harry doesn’t notice.

Luckily, Harry’s grinning and taking Alexa by the arm to lead her back into the party. Nick hears her say something about shots, before they’re gone around the corner.

“That wasn’t anywhere near as exciting as I thought it was gonna be,” Henry mutters as he moves to follow after them.

“Nicholas,” Aimee says sadly, but Nick shakes her off and goes, too.

 

\----

 

The party has mellowed somewhat. They’ve all convened in Henry’s sitting room, the dozen or so party guests who are left. Harry’s talking, slow like molasses and more annoying than usual.

“It’s like, just nice to know we’re making a difference,” Harry says, eyes shining brightly as he leans into Alexa’s side.

“Sure,” Nick snorts, “making a difference in the lives of thirteen year olds everywhere.”

He makes the mistake of looking up, then, and Harry’s brows are furrowed, and oh. He hadn’t meant for Harry to hear, really.

The room is pretty quiet, then, or maybe Nick’s just used to everyone else fading away when he’s got Harry’s full attention.

“It bothers you, doesn’t it? That I kissed James Corden.” Harry says it like a statement, and it’s not a question Nick can avoid. Harry’s eyes are challenging, and drunk Nick Grimshaw has always liked a challenge.

“Fine, yes,” Nick says, scoffing, “it bothers me. He shouldn’t be taking advantage of you like that. Also, you’re not gay. And it’s like you’re making a mockery of us, or, or. Something.”

Nick’s aware he’s grasping at straws, but at this point he’s just shoving words past his lips so that the words “kiss” and “me” and “instead” can’t spill out.

“Oh, fuck off, Nicholas,” Henry shouts from across the room, “Harry can kiss whoever he’d like.”

“What, do you want me to like, kiss you, instead?” Harry’s voice rings out clearly, and several people in the room laugh out loud. Traitors, the lot of them. “Would that make you less grumpy, do you reckon?”

Nick freezes.

“Do I, you don’t,” Nick sputters, red in the face, “Shut up.”

Harry lifts a shoulder in a shrug, bringing his glass up to his mouth and taking a sip. Not that Nick’s watching.

“I could do,” Harry says, one more time.

“I’m good,” Nick manages to choke out, before he flees for the third time that night, muttering about getting himself another beer.

 

\----

 

In the car back to Nick’s he tries hard not to stare at Harry’s mouth. He’s pretty sure he’s doing a great job of it, but he’s been wrong before, especially while drunk. He keeps manically flicking his gaze up to Harry’s, and yeah, he’s watching Nick back with an amused little smile. He’s probably not figured it out yet. Nick hopes.

He excuses himself to the toilet as soon as he gets in the door, leaving Harry to pick up the jacket he drops to the ground as he goes. He knows Harry will hang it neatly on the coat rack with his own, the ridiculously domestic child.

He takes longer in the bathroom than he needs to, but he’s not really up for another conversation tonight. Nick’s already made it more than weird between them, but thankfully, the night had progressed from there to it’s usual conclusion of the two of them making their way back to Nick’s to crash.

Nick’s missed this, he’s not saying he hasn’t, it’s just that it’s different, this time.

He hasn’t ever let himself think of Harry the way he can’t help thinking of Harry now.

After enough time has passed that he thinks Harry may have passed out in the guest bedroom, Nick makes his way to the kitchen. Harry is still there, though, of course he is, because that’s how Nick’s luck goes lately.

Harry’s leaning back against the counter, arms folded across his chest. He looks better than anyone who has just spent hours getting absolutely shitfaced should look. His hair is unruly, but then, it always is, and the neck of his shirt has somehow managed to get stretched so that the wings of Harry’s swallows peek out.

“Oh,” Nick says, lamely, “you’re still awake.”

“Nick,” Harry says, the same quiet voice Nick’s heard from him a million times.

Harry’s tongue sneaks out and wets his lips, and that’s all the warning Nick gets before Harry shoves away from the counter and moves into Nick’s space, pressing their lips together. It’s soft, but firm, for the first few moments, and then Harry tilts his head and plays dirty, dragging his mouth against Nick’s in a slow slide that makes Nick’s breath catch in his throat.

Nick’s lips part on a gasp, and Harry takes the opportunity to bite gently at Nick’s bottom lip. Harry’s long fingers slide up Nick’s neck and into the back of his hair, and he puts Nick where he needs him. Their mouths part with a slick, wet sound that Nick barely has time to register before Harry leans in again. Nick’s brain has finally caught up and gotten onboard, because this time he kisses back. He opens up, lets Harry lick inside. Nick sucks the taste of mint and gin from Harry’s tongue, humming in approval when Harry lets a soft moan slip.

He only pulls away because he has to in order for breathing to happen, but Harry keeps their foreheads pressed together and huffs out a laugh. He presses the teeth of his grin against Nick’s neck, and Nick palms his hands across the exposed skin where Harry’s T-shirt is riding up.

“Do you get it, now?” Harry asks, punctuated with a sharp bite and the slide of teeth across Nick’s skin.

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be getting. You’ve never… with men, before, I mean, I thought…”

“Assumed,” Harry says, long-suffering, interrupting Nick’s train of thought. “You assumed. And anyway, just because I haven’t kissed guys before doesn’t mean I didn’t want to. With one man, at least.”

“One guy, huh? James Corden is a lucky bloke, I guess.” Nick grips more tightly, digs his fingers into Harry’s hip, just because he can.

Harry laughs and rolls his eyes.

“I’m gonna spell this out for you, because you can be really thick sometimes,” Harry says, sliding his mouth in close to Nick’s ear. “I don’t really want to be kissing James Corden. It was just for a laugh.”

“Fuck James Corden,” Nick says, gruffly, sliding his hands down the backs of Harry’s thighs and hitching them forward until Harry is pressed as tightly to him as possible.

“Rather fuck you, if I’m honest,” Harry laughs, crinkling his nose adorably.

“Terrible joke,” Nick chokes out, his heart jumping into his throat. Harry chuckles, and Nick leans in to kiss him quiet.

“Heeeyyyy,” Harry says, “I’ll have you know that my jokes are the stuff of television comedy gold.”

Harry pulls back from Nick and yanks him by the hand, using his momentum to launch them towards the hallway in the direction of the bedroom.

As Nick stumbles down the hall, he makes a mental note to steal Corden’s contact from Harry’s phone later. He can’t decide if he owes him a thank you or an apology, but he can probably figure it out later.

**Author's Note:**

> (Title is from the 1975's _Settle Down_.)
> 
> //[tumblr](http://fortymaliks.tumblr.com)//[twitter](http://twitter.com/fortymaliks)//


End file.
